Hogwarts a History: As Told by the Sorting Hat
by Turophile
Summary: The true history of the infamous school, told from the accurate point of view of one disgruntled and underappreciated hat.


Summary: The brief history of Hogwarts and the thoughts of one esteemed and praised sorting hat.

Just Because.

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Life ain't easy for a hat. Existing was pretty great, I had to admit. At least, it was for the first century or so. Life was never easy with the founders of course. They all seemed great to the casual observer; perhaps with the exception of that greasy git Slytherin. Virtuous Gryffindor, wise Ravenclaw, and accepting Hufflepuff. At first glance they were the epitome of what strong upstanding witches and wizards should aspire to be.

Unless you were me of course; the sorting hat. Shortly after Gryffindor created me, I was left to rot upon the highest shelf in old Gryffindor's study, forlorn and all but forgotten. I wasn't used for sorting back in those days of course. The story of my creation is actually very absurd and uninteresting.

Batty old Slytherin trotted up to Gryffindor one day, toting around a great big Wizard hat that had the unmistakable ability to sing a small selection of well known folk songs. This caused quite a pang of jealously to Gryffindor as those two were always trying to outdo each other. Hats generally being of the non singing and motionless variety back then, Gryffindor got it in his head to craft a hat that would not only be able to sing, but would interact with those around it on a conscious level. And so, right before Slytherin's bulbous eyes (one of which wandered in a lazy manner) Gryffindor whipped me right off of old snake lips himself and cast a charm the likes of which no one had seen before. I was the center of attention for right about two weeks, before Gryffindor got fed up with my engaging personality and shoved me high up on the shelf that became my home for countless years. You see, one thing Mr. Bravery didn't intend was my unnerving ability to see into the mind of whomevers head I so gloriously perched upon. The Lion didn't like that one. How was I to know he would take offense merely because I felt the need to sing (quite loudly) his innermost thoughts about a certain Ravenclaw whenever she was within shouting distance. Even though those well-placed comments would eventually bring them together, I was shown no mercy.

The truth is, I was never intended to be anything more or less then a rather talented and unusual head accessory. Forgotten and lonely, I sulked on top of that old shelf day after day. Watching Gryffindor preen over himself every morning got to be quite irritating. I swear the man thought he was a phoenix, the way he gazed into his own reflection in that mirror for hours. You'd think he was seeing the secrets of life.

My days passed rather uneventfully until the great falling out between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Things had always been tense, naturally, as they seemed to constantly work in opposition. Yet they had managed to bear their animosity and keep the school running; that is, until scaly got the idea to start turning out the muggle born and fill the students minds with evil. Matters eventually reached a head, and one dramatic evening Self-absorbed plunged his very own priceless sword right into the breast of Slimy himself. Slytherin managed to flee, but not without first taking off Gryffindor's left arm with a well placed curse. Things only went down hill from there. After several well placed words of encouragement on my part such as "give a clap for that last hit old chum" and "next time arm yourself for battle properly!", Gryffindor became so enraged he actually through his beautiful sword straight at me; ripping the most horrid gash right above my brim. To make matters worse, he didn't even stop there! He grabbed me by the top and jammed me right on the tip of that horrid killing instrument. Now I don't know about humans, but it was pretty uncomfortable having a sharp pointy object forced up the inside of my very essence. To compound things he appointed me keeper of the terrible thing.

As I gathered dust on that old shelf, watching over a sword that I had limited access to, Gryffindor took off in pursuit of Slytherin. Walked right out the front door people are so proud of today. I knew Gryffindor would never catch him. Slytherin may have been a barmy git but he was stealthy. The days turned into weeks and those weeks turned to months until finally, composed Ravenclaw snapped and threw herself off the tallest tower of the castle. Apparently she couldn't handle the departure of the oh so noble Gryffindor. I'll never understand humans. His absence was a plus in my books. Well, as hats go I didn't really have any books, but if I did it would definitely be marked down as a plus. I did get so tired of watching that man comb his wavy hair just so and admire his pearly whites all the time.

Poor plump Hufflepuff couldn't stand being the sole educator in the castle so she left as well. She was never fond of Ravenclaw. In my opinion she was jealous of the other bird because she had what every woman wants; brains AND looks. The school closed for a few hundred years and I was left to contemplate the meaning of magical life and such. It was incredibly boring. On the positive side, I DID manage to get over my fear of spiders; as several thousand eventually found their way across my brim. As the many bugs and vermin made me a frayed and saddened specimen, I'll admit I contemplated suicide. Only problem was I couldn't quite figure out how to do myself in without any limbs or appendages. Then there was the fact that I had no support system I could sabotage to ultimately destroy myself. That subject kept me occupied for a hundred or so years.

Then finally, one day a dewy eyed group of notable witches and wizards showed up and began renovating the school. Dust was cleared out, students brought in, and my old masters private room transformed into what is now the Headmasters study. They found me there, sitting right on the very shelf that I claimed as my own. To this day I still remember their voices.

"Look at the thing! It can talk...and think!" Some tiny old dame was croaking in an awed whisper to the others. I guess conscious hats were a commodity.

"Maybe it was left by Gryffindor to help the running of the school!" A younger man. He sounded so enthusiastic at the time. "It must know the secrets of the founders! Share your wisdom with us hat!"

So they had thought I was a sign from the great hero himself. I wasn't going to confuse their simple little heads with the details. "That's right! I am an all knowing magical hat that Gryffindor left behind to continue the long standing traditions of this institution!"

It was pathetic how overawed they all were. You'd think it was the second coming.

"I know! Let's give it the honor of separating the students. We can let them wear the hat and be sorted into the houses; it's almost as if Gryffindor himself was picking the lot! We can call it the sorting hat!" If I had been facing the owner of that random voice at the time, I'd have committed his face to memory; just so that I could have devised a plan that would end with his horribly painful and untimely death.

So the years passed in that manner for a while, and life was infinitely worse then my extended period of solitude. The simpletons even accepted my wonderful singing before each ceremony, in which I amused myself by using the ironic lyrics I'd come up with in all those years alone. I guess the irony was lost on them. As I sang of Noble Gryffindor and Wise Ravenclaw, they ate it up with adoring gazes and swelling hearts. I guess they didn't know about the tendencies they had for impulsive suicide and pompous self appreciation. The world was truly mad.

They never did find out that I couldn't really sort anyone to save my life. Sure I could gaze into their minds and explore their innermost feelings and secrets; but what did they expect me to find, a glowing sign that said "Hufflepuff Street!!!" or "Gryffindor Row!"? More often then not I just held my breath and counted numbers really fast. The number I ran out of breath on was what house I stuck them in. If the number had a two or a four, they went to Gryffindor, a 6 or an 8, Ravenclaw. Slytherin and Hufflepuff were the odds. If I managed a zero I politely asked them which house they liked the best and sent them to the opposite. Hell, I didn't really have lungs so it was more of me imagining that I should have run out of breath by that time. It was a very precise method.

Time passed in that manner for a few more years. Life wasn't good, but I was managing. Then one day, while happily snoozing on my shelf in the room occupied by the latest long bearded and all knowing headmaster, a great big bird snatches me out of my slumber neat as you please and carries me into the darkest, creepiest place I've ever been! The animal then drops me off right on the head of a feminine boy who was on his last leg. I would happily have let the adolescent end his miserable existence there with no hard feelings, but then he pulls that ancient sword right out of my middle and sticks it in the maw of some giant snake. Now having that sword forced upon me was one thing, but reverse entry was an entirely different ordeal. Suffice it to say that I had a few choice words for that punk. But as all great masterminds know, I had only to bide my time. I was returned to my shelf in short order, slightly worse for wear, and fuming upon my plans for revenge. It didn't take me long to come up with a fitting plan of malicious intent. One day as a house elf came up to the study for the daily cleaning, I exerted the extents of my movement and plopped down right on top of his head. He being a lesser creature, I easily bent him to my will and carried out my evil deeds, before returning to my precarious perch atop my shelf. The next day the satisfying news reached my frayed patches that my scheme had successfully worked. The Potter boy had to go a whole day wearing differently colored socks! Revenge was sweet.

After that bit of excitement, things went stale for a few years. At one point some dumpy little woman tried to get inside the Headmasters office, but I gave her a good talking to and I haven't seen her since. I became more worn and that old coot with the beard was replaced by a stern looking bird who looked in need of a good time. Never did find out what the old codger did to get the sack. My existence was unchanged, one day after another, until I was plucked out of my every day life into a raging battle. Still confused about the sudden shift, I heard some high pitched girls voice going on and on; sounding just like old Gryffindor did when he got to admiring himself. Next thing I knew, I was on fire! FIRE! Being a magical being of such a high standard, the fire, naturally, couldn't harm me. I didn't know this at the time. I panicked and came as close to shatting myself as was possible for a hat. With a great lurch that damnable sword flew through me again and some clammy bucktoothed pansy used it to cleave the head of another damned snake. Why did people hate snakes so?!? I was thereafter extinguished and once again placed on my high standing shelf; which is where I currently reside. Life ain't easy for a hat; and the history of Hogwarts was a crazy one. They always try to clean it up a bit in the history books, but luckily there are always the few like me who stick around through it all to give a clear and accurate telling of the truth. I expect another gaggle of feminine faced youths will pass under my brim any day now, so here I sit; thinking up another song only I get that makes fun of the notable founders. I am unending, ever present, and full of life. I'm the sorting hat of Hogwarts. I was here from the beginning, and I'll be here till the end.

* * *

I figured the hat needed some recognition too! I mean, after all; It's the only object around that directly interacted with the founders and is conscious, yet strangely is always neglected for it's historical value. Whatever. If it made you chuckle appreciatively at least once; take the time to leave a comment.


End file.
